Alice knew there was something in the wind. She'd been feeling it for weeks, or at least smelling something bad on the wind coming from the house at the end of the block. She had once cleaned that house for old Marty.
She liked him, even if he did follow her from room to room, yakking away and pointing out corners he thought she missed, with his damn yapping dog sniffing her the whole time, the one that wanted to hump every leg he didn't pee on. She hated that dog.
She walked down the block and pounded on the front door, waiting for an answer. When she got none, she tried the door and pushed it open.
After the wafting breeze of decay rolled over her nose, she noticed the dog. It had gotten fatter. Then she realized what a good source of protein Marty must have been.